


The Wizard and His King

by daintylemonsquare



Category: Merlin (TV), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Comedy, Fantasy, M/M, Sci-Fi, putting some works from my tumblr to here just so it won't be an empty account
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daintylemonsquare/pseuds/daintylemonsquare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long dead, presumed mythical, king arrives at Night Vale and an old friend is coming for him. Also, there is a brand new pastry shop, a look at the community calendar, and a public service announcement from the Greater Night Vale Medical Community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wizard and His King

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this isn’t Joseph Fink, creator of Welcome to Night Vale. I know, I checked. Twice. In fact, this is a whole different person all together, I’m sorry to disappoint but at the same time I’m not ha-ha. What are even doing on this page? Anyway, first thing’s first: I do not own Night Vale or anyone in Night Vale. Second, I do not own the characters of Merlin. Third, this was created before the 49th Night Vale episode and it will not follow any vague idea of continuity Night Vale has. Fourth, you look great today. Is that a new haircut? A new shirt? Are you ovulating? I’m sure you’re ovulating. You’re male? You’re ovulating too. Listen, if you like what I wrote here and want me to continue typing letters forming them into words then forming them into sentences then forming them into paragraphs please make me a published writer through the combination of light and cake magic.
> 
> Thanks. From me, NOT Joseph Fink. I think.

What's that behind you?

Too late. 

Welcome to Night Vale.

Breaking news, listeners! There is a man running around in the streets claiming that he was the legendary king of Camelot himself, Arthur Pendragon. Witnesses describe him as tall, with a stocky build, blond hair, a face sent from the heavens above carved by angels, who don’t exist, and has an English accent. He is also wielding a sword and wearing armor that would indicate that he either truly came from sixteenth century Camelot and the City Council summoned him from the spirit realm because it is what was said in “The Prophecy of Everything” or he’s a heavily drugged member of the Night Vale community theater who has survived their brief stint at the newly reconstructed Night Vale Opera House which imploded in on itself last two days ago after that very brief stint leaving half the city block. Literally half of the city block from the Applebee’s on Langston Street to the Nordstrom rack on Rosebud Avenue went missing after the implosion. Door halves hanging limply on half of their door frames. Table halves hanging precariously on floor halves like a life hanging on its very last breath. A half of an unfinished apple pie still waiting for the rest of its consumer to come back from wherever it is the half of everything went. We still don’t know whether or not those halves will be seen or heard from ever again. Luckily, Night Vale’s invisible clock tower was left unscathed during the inexplicable event.

The City Council would like to remind citizens that “The Prophecy of Everything”, as with angels, mountains, square mugs, and Tetris, does not exist. They would also like to remind citizens to keep their distance from the man with the sword. Not because he is an integral part of a possibly dangerous prophecy but because swords are sharp and could really hurt you.

We have been getting reports of him shouting and then stabbing cars in the middle of the road, asking the people around him to “explain these monstrosities” to him and “why they’re in these metal horses in the first place”. There are also reports of him climbing up the cars he’s stabbed, asking if anyone’s seen a man named “Merlin”. He seemed deeply confused and upset –more confused and upset than normal for a man who’s either experienced a great time jump or the slow crawl down from a theatrically induced high or being ripped from his eternal slumber in the void, we might never know –when he was told “no”.

Now listeners, I don’t know about you, but I have only the vaguest idea of what is going on and who this man is. It would be more convenient if Arthurian lore was approved reading material. Alas, we only have the redacted version of it and all of my knowledge can only go as far as “Arthur – King” and “Merlin – W”. Everything else is all black lines as well as “why are you even reading this” and “how did you even get the permission to get this” written all over the margins. If anyone has further information on this so-called “King” and his “W”, the Sheriff’s Secret Police would like to have a little “chat” with you at an unspecified, windowless location about how you came across that information.

Whoever, whatever, Merlin is, if someone is able to contact him, or her, please do so immediately. We can’t have this deranged man be out in the streets longer than the allowed eight hours. He is already pushing hour number five and it’s getting more out of hand than normal.

More on this as it develops.

In other news, a new bake shop opened its doors to Night Vale yesterday evening. Following the sudden, golden electrical storm, _Nathaniel’s Perfect Pastries_ appeared out of nowhere and filled the entire city block with the smell of freshly baked pies and tarts and cookies and the like. The smell was so beguiling and overpowering, slicing through town like a red, hot butter knife through a person’s flesh, that it made our new mayor, The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home, overrule the city council’s previous ban on wheat and wheat by-products.

When asked about how they feel about the new mayor’s decision to lift the ban, the City Council said in unison, “We don’t even know what she’s going to do with those pastries! She doesn’t have a mouth to eat pastries with! In fact, she doesn’t have a nose, how did she even smell the opening in the first place! Wheat and wheat by-products are _dangerous_ ” the City Council continued, all of them starting to release steam from their fingers, “that bake shop should not even be open. It should not –” Then, a gentle breeze opened a window and the scent of butter extract filled the room with its strong, savory, but somewhat sweet, aroma. The City Council visibly relaxed into their chairs and drew in a deep breath. This scent was followed by the scent of honey and the soft, elegant fragrance of fresh scones. When pressed for a continuation of their previous statement, the City Council simply floated into the air and out of the window, each one of them muttering a pastry’s name.

Our new mayor had no comment but she did leave me this half-eaten raspberry tart on a paper napkin. On the paper napkin is a neat note that reads: “Behold the power. Behold the strength. Behold the coming of a new era. Let your senses feast. Let your body feast. And he will feast as well. Follow the scent of beauty until you reach what lies within.”

Our reporters tried to get a statement from the eponymous Nathaniel of _Nathaniel’s Perfect Pastries_ but whenever they got close, Nathaniel would scuttle up the walls and through a multicolored hole in one corner of the ceiling. He would then proceed to peek from time to time with big, luminescent blue eyes until the reporters gave up and left.

I, myself, upon hearing this overruling bravely went into the bake shop with my boyfriend Carlos whose danger meter was beeping jovially the closer we got to it though I did not see venomous snakes nor did I see evil spirits. The shop itself was quaint. Situated at the bottom floor of our Allegiance building, facing Blake Boulevard where all the high end re-tail stores were situated with their expensive extinct animal tails and bejeweled tails boasting from their shop windows. _Nathaniel’s Perfect Pastries_ was the shop that did not sell tails or provided re-tailing services. Nevertheless, it was a smart decision on Nathaniel’s part because Blake Boulevard is always filled with citizens and their pets.

Different smells came from every corner and the colors were so vivid and bright that I felt myself smile wide, so wide, so very wide. Before we knew it, Carlos and I bought a banana-chocolate cream pie and an ensaïmada, respectively. We don’t know how we got out and how much the pastries cost us. Carlos tried going back a few times but he always ended up walking back to me with no memory of even leaving. Oh these new shops always cause such a buzz in Night Vale, I’m sure they’re using the usual memory field to keep the place from overcrowding.

At the first bite, I could taste the freshest bananas and the sweetest of chocolates. The filling melted in my mouth and if my tongue could talk it would beg and beg and beg for more. I fell to my knees and praised my unsmiling god for letting us have this moment of greatness. Carlos, after taking his bite, burst into tears, reminded of his family and of his home and how much he missed them. We stayed on that street corner, eating our fill with tears in our eyes and our tongues singing with the sensation of the sweetest of sweets, the pastriest of pastries.

Since there are no wheat and wheat by-product-related deaths reported as of right now, I guess it’s safe to endorse this pastry shop! I will want nothing more than to try every single one of Nathaniel’s pastries until I, metaphorically, burst!

An update on the story of the displaced king of Camelot.

He has now gotten off the streets with the help of the Sheriff’s Secret Police. Witnesses say that though the Secret Police have the power of technology, they had a hard time subduing Arthur. John Peters, you know, the farmer, said that Arthur “swung that sword like people would swing a fly swatter – the big, heavy duty ones for the heavy duty flies that come around in the summer, not the normal ones that come in the winter.” John went on and mentioned that the Secret Police “continued to buzz around him in their hover packs, asking him to stand down even as he screamed at their magic flying abilities or something.”

Soon enough, witnesses report, Arthur finally tired down and surrendered, dropping his sword onto the ground and began weeping. The Secret Police agents shuffled uneasily at this sudden outburst of emotion until one of them stepped forward and asked if Arthur was okay. Arthur replied by vehemently denying that he was crying and that he wasn’t scared at all by those “metal horses”, “flying magic”, and “the balls of light from which the metal horses seemed to take direction”. Before Arthur could further deny the tears that were spilling from his eyes, a tranquilizer dart flew through the air and hit the crying king squarely on the neck. He squeaked like a mouse then proceeded to drop to his knees. As he fell, witnesses say, he muttered something about Merlin taking too long “as usual”.

“Why did no one think of that five hours ago?!” Asked a disgruntled bystander named _Steve Carlsberg_ , who had no regard or respect for the _hardworking_ men and women, and those who don’t identify with either or one gender, that the Sheriff handpicked from birth and since they were toddlers to keep our city safe! Yeah, that’s right _Steve_ , I named you on the radio _again_ because you can _never_ take a hint that _maybe_ the Secret Police had to find their _tranquilizer dart expert_ who was _out on an important mission_ before they could legally use the tranquilizer! _Maybe_ the Secret Police didn’t _have_ non-lethal blow darts in their arsenal! _Maybe_ –

“WHERE’S ARTHUR?!”

…I’m…I’m sorry listeners. I do not know where that transmission came from or if it was a transmission at all. But if I’m right, that maybe that was the Merlin that Arthur was talking about. Mere speculation here, listeners, since my knowledge of their lore is filled with black boxes and scribbled notes on the margins, but I _think_ Merlin, whoever he is, is a boy scout! I know a person who earned their subversive radio host badge right away! Merlin, if you’re listening, I admire how clear and loud your signal is. Oh, and the Sheriff’s Secret Police have taken Arthur to the abandoned mine shaft outside of town so that he may not cause any more harm and will probably be interrogated about where he came from, when he came from, and whether or not we should alert the Night Vale Time-Travelers Union.

“ARTHUR?! ARTHUR!!”

Wow, he must’ve been a really good boy scout! I don’t think he can hear me but, oh well, everyone has their flaws, right?

More on this thrilling event in our city later. For now, let’s take a look at our community calendar.

Monday: we are to expect heavy rain and the poignant insights the sound of rain and the grayness of the sky will bring you as you think about what is important in your life. Also expect the sudden appearance of small, shrublike creatures that will scuttle across your lawn. These creatures will not harm you and will only come out when there is ample rainfall or when a child cries outside at night because of the death of a beloved pet. These harmless little nameless things come out as often as the rain so we don’t really know much about them. Children who weren’t taken say that these creatures are nice and release a soothing minty smell whenever they are nearby. When the rain ends and the sun bursts out from behind the dark, gray background of clouds these creatures shrivel up and burrow tiny holes in the soil.

Tuesday: people will divulge their deepest, darkest secrets in the bi-annual Purging of Secrets that started in 1991 when people’s secrets began take on lives of their own. This year’s Purging of Secrets will be held below the lights above the Arby’s because the arena in which the event is usually held has been overrun by baristas from the barista district because the caves are being fumigated. Don’t let those baristas tell you that Night Vale doesn’t give them proper care. We will be joined, as usual, by the mysterious hooded figures from the forbidden and unknowable Dog Park. We are still not sure as to why they participate and what role they play since they do not speak with the rest of the town but I’m sure they have a reason and we’re just not allowed to know it.

Wednesday: The internet will cease working. That’s it. It doesn’t say how long until it comes back. “We didn’t use to have internet in the past, we’ll be able to get on without it!” says the announcement in big block letters. “People need to go outside, read a book, smell the approved flowers in the specified times, exercise. Spend time with your loved ones because you never know when they will be taken from us by the uncertainty of life or a vague, yet menacing, government agency.” And then, at the bottom of the announcement, it reads “shop at Target”. I guess I know where _I’ll_ be going on Wednesday!

Thursday: is going to be horrible. Just plain horrible. It will go on and on and you will be in so much emotional and physical turmoil that you just want to drink the day away. It’s going to be so horrible that you might not even want to get out of your bed but you have to. You have obligations. You have to put dinner on the table. You have to show up for your job. You have to pretend like it’s not a horrible day when it is. You have to go about your day, following your routines, doing your errands, but it’s still going to be a horrible day. Nothing is going to change how horrible this day will be. You can do it. You can get through this day with a few scratches, a few bruises, and _maybe_ even a few burns. At the end, you will come home, fall on your bed and smile because the day is over and you’ve gotten through it. You open a bottle of wine, dress down to a shirt and underwear and turn up the music but not too loud. You recline on your couch and you drink slowly. Small gulps. You let the taste of wine fill your mouth and you let it settle in your stomach as you ponder how you deserve this rest, how you never want to see another day like that _again_. Then you take another sip and you smile a little bit at this small victory against the unforgiving universe.

Friday: the sun will not rise therefore – good news the residents in Old Town Night Vale – there will be no noisy sunsets. There is no explanation as to why the sun will not rise. Experts say that the sun needs a day off after billions of years rising and then setting on the horizons. “The sun is just tired,” astronomist Peter Harris said, waving around his phone as he buys yet another item off of Etsy, “research shows that celestial bodies do take their breaks every billion years or something like that. It’s not the void devouring the universe starting with a star near us – not yet, anyway. There’s nothing to worry about.” Then his eyes bulged and his mouth opened in a silent, ecstatic scream as his freckles danced across his face and then he started tapping on his phone, “oh my god, shoe sale shoe sale shoe sale”

Saturday: will be the almighty and ethereal Glow Cloud’s birthday! Be sure to come to him and BOW DOWN BEFORE THE SUPREME GLOW CLOUD YOU TINY, SOFT, AND PITIFUL HUMAN BEING. BEG FOR MERCY. BEG FOR YOUR SOUL SUBMIT YOURSELF BEFORE HIM AND CRY OUT HIS NAME WITH TERROR AND REVERENCE. ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD. ALL HAIL. And, just a reminder, it is rude to ask someone as ageless and timeless as this entity of powerful luminescence their age so UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE TAKEN FROM THIS WRETCHED BALL OF EARTH AND FIRE AND WATER AND AIR AND GRAVITY AND GUTS, UNLESS YOU WANT TO FEEL UNBELIEVABLE AND UNIMAGINABLE TERROR AND PAIN AND TERROR AND WORTHLESSNESS YOU WILL WORSHIP THE OMNISCIENT AND OMNIPOTENT GLOW CLOUD! So happy birthday Glow Cloud. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

This has been the community calendar.

And now a word from our sponsors.

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GRACESGUIDEBOOK.COM! gracesguidebook.com. Eat Shi – [microphone feedbacks]

Update on the King of Camelot.

The city of Night Vale has been surrounded by an impenetrable force field. I can see blue spires of light ascending into the spiraling gray crowds above us, no telling where it ends or if it even ends at all. The Secret Police have done their best to follow the guidelines for penetrating an impenetrable force field without much luck. They’ve tried ramming their armored cars at it, thrown their grenades, asked nearby residents to give them extra grenades once they’d used up theirs, and they’ve tried hitting it with Arthur’s sword. Arthur is still heavily drugged. Once they’ve exhausted all physical efforts, they tired the mental approach by joining hands and willing the force field down or at least punch a hole into it. Finally, they tried reasoning with the field only to remember that force fields rarely listen to reason.

…Oh. Right, okay. Intern Denise handed me a message from the Sheriff’s Secret Police. Due to circumstances that in no ways relate to Hiram McDaniels being a, erm, I quote “a big baby sore loser” and attacking City Hall and The Faceless Old Woman cementing every entrance and exit shut, they will be driving to the second safest place in Night Vale which is the radio studio. Though this studio has survived attacks from within and without, I can’t help but feel a little worried – no, scared. Yes, scared, every time something happens. Because fear is an important feeling even though people try to hide behind their bravery and courage and strength, fear is something that everyone experiences no matter how much you try ignoring it. It is alright to be afraid. There’s no shame in the fast paced beating of your heart. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to run away and protect yourself and the ones you love. Being afraid is just your body wanting to keep you alive. And it is in fear that we find our courage. There won’t be any of that without the other, right, listeners? So we should learn to embrace that fear, run with it, hide with it, cower with it and then find that, in the end, it is the fear that helped us find our strength…

And you know it’s one of those days when you’re not in the mood to do much. Speaking is like breathing to me so this part, me announcing the news and speaking into his microphone, you listening with your ears or what-have-you – it’s as easy as first grade scrying. But the aftermath of an attack demands so much from you. You know how expensive it is to repair things after a freak attack from the birds, or when a tornado appeared in the women’s bathroom for those ten seconds. Not to mention how tedious it is to rewrite those protective sigils into the walls. However, I will not deny our security agents a place to stay as they figure out how to get rid of that force field and bring Arthur to the abandoned mine shaft.

Listeners, a group of scientists just walked in the studio along with a white board. Carlos is not in attendance, of course, as he is taking a break from his work to focus on making me dinner tonight for no particular reason other than wanting to make me dinner, which is very sweet of him. Oh, he just sent me a text. “Just heard you on the radio…” uh… I don’t think I should mention the rest. Oh! Carlos sent another message and… Huh. He said it’s snowing. Which is impossible because snow is a myth. Hahaha, oh Carlos, a real joker that one.

The group of scientists is tapping on the studio window, which they really shouldn’t do because we just replaced that. I’m waving at them now to keep them from doing that. They are pointing at the white board where it reads “SNOWING RIGHT NOW! ACTUAL REAL LIFE SNOW” They are flipping the white board over and are pointing at these graphs and numbers and attributing it to whatever force is causing the force field around town…

Oh _I get it_. Carlos is definitely playing a prank on me and the scientists are in on it. I see what you’re doing guys. You got me! We all know from our fourth grade science class that snow is just a story our parents told us about cold and crystallized water droplets falling from the sky. Snow only happens in faraway lands of fiction! It is all sand all the time. Sometimes it rains water. Sometimes, it rains fire. Sometimes it rains some sort of gelatinous substance that will alter your mind when it touches your skin and turns into feathers when it touches your clothes. I really have to go back to my show but it was a nice try. And Carlos, don’t think I won’t get you _baaack_.

They’re still pointing at the white board and pointing to the view behind me where I see white particles falling from the sky but I’m sure that’s just styrofoam. The scientists are running their hands through their hair as a sign of clear frustration, their eyes bulging at me and one of them crying at the back. Wow, these guys are good. Really into their roles. I don’t think they know I know they are pranking me. Carlos should’ve really gone with something more believable like, off the top of my head, moving sculptures, flying pigs, or glue.

Look! He even got the Sheriff’s Secret Police in on it! They walked in with white flurries of “snow” – _riiiight_ – on their heads and shoulders, dragging a man in armor into the studio. Arthur, I presume. He looks chunkier than I imagined but then again, it might be the armor. One of the officers tipped over the white board and set it on fire while a few others are escorting the scientists away. They look at me with pleading eyes as they are being led away by the handcuffs the Secret Police put on them. Great acting you gu – woah!

Listeners…Listeners? Can you hear me? I think the equipment is badly shaken but I’m sure that they are still plugged and unplugged in all the right places. The lights that blink are still blinking and the lights that don’t blink are also blinking but they do that every time Kohshekh is hungry so it could be that. Did you feel that tremor, listeners? That fierce tremor that threw me off of my seat and onto the floor as easily as a child throwing a doll across the room in a show of dominance over others? Did you feel it? I know Carlos has been saying that they still don’t know why Night Vale isn’t experiencing the staggering magnitude of earthquakes we are supposed to be having but I did not expect it to happen today. I’m really glad I submitted that insurance claim. Woah!

“Arthur, oh it’s been years. Finally, I am coming for you. Just you wait. Just you wait and we’ll be together again.”

Captain January Dedicatoria has entered my studio and is now telling me in a series of elegant and graceful ballet steps as he was being a proponent of the use of Dance as the official town language. He is telling me to help…pas de bourrée… barricade the studio against the coming… do that arabesque again… the coming attack against… With a sigh, he grand jeté-d out of the room. I guess this is very urgent and I will help any way I can.

Here is a prerecorded public service announcement from the Greater Night Vale Medical Committee.

Whenever you wake up, do you ever feel strange? Like, you have this throbbing sensation in your head as soon as the light hits your eyes? Or that you feel the world tip _slightly to the left_ whenever you take a few steps down the stairs? When you touch something, does it hurt? Does it _not_ hurt? Does it hurt just a little but doesn’t actually cause you any psychological distress though you feel some pain? When you breathe, do your lungs get irritated? Do you strain to hold onto your sanity? When you are staring at the dark ceiling, unable to fall asleep, do you ever wonder if you’re really here? Do you? Ever think of your existence? As you walk down the street, watching the sun set loudly with a complete palette of colors splashed across the sky, do you feel? Do you think about what matters, if anything really matters at all? Is that real or not real? How can you tell, really? How can we all tell? Do you ask questions? Do you? Did you answer yes to all of the previous questions? Just some? That’s okay. Just one or two? Also fine, because ultimately, it’s the same thing.

You are dying and we cannot help you. There’s no medical solution to that inevitability. We’re all in the process of dying no matter what, so stop whining and suck it up.

This has been a public service announcement from the Greater Night Vale Medical Committee.

Listeners, oh listeners, the radio studio is under attack! We are all cowering underneath a desk and the Secret Police have dragged Arthur into my radio booth and went out to guard the door as they huddle underneath tables they erected diagonally against the walls. Some have tried fleeing but the protection charms surrounding the radio studio have backfired and are keeping us all in. I’m getting reports that there is a storm brewing outside. A mixture of rain and fog and sand is filling the air. If you’re listening to this in your car _please stay inside until this is over_! No amount of concrete, metal, or especially, wood, can protect you but it’s better than nothing!

The floor has been shaking nonstop since I last spoke to you and I’m going to say it listeners, I am frightened. Hopefully Merlin will stop attacking once he comes for Arthur, who is stirring in his tranquilized state. But there is still a slight chance that he might –

…I must call Carlos. I need to tell him that – Hello? Carlos? Are you staying in the house? Are you okay?

“Cecil!”

Carlos! What are you doing here?!

“I came as soon as I saw the snow and –”

We’re still going with that prank? I don’t think that’s appropriate right now.

“…Never mind… I came as soon as I could! I was planning to help you escape but I seem to have locked myself in the studio. I am a scientist and I don’t know how to deal with those symbols you put up though I’m really eager to study them then maybe… Anyway, I’m sorry.”

I’m just really glad you’re okay! Woah!

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Listeners, this may be the last time I speak to you.

“Don’t say that.”

But it is my duty as a radio host to continue in the face of revolution, attacks, natural calamities, and other dangerous, semi-dangerous, and ever-so slightly dangerous situations. Let me take you now –

“ _Ætslide bencþel!_ ”

“CECIL, LOOK OUT!”

~~~~~~~WEATHER~~~~~~~

Listeners, I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is that Carlos and I are alive. Say hi, Carlos.

“…Er… Hi.”

The bad news is that we are telekinetically pinned against the wall facing the window looking into the studio. The good news is that the microphone landed beside my head. The bad news is that the radio studio, from my point of view, has been decimated. The good news is most of the Secret Police Agents are alive. The bad news is Intern Denise got hit by a table and thrown into Station Management’s office will never be seen or heard of ever again. To the family of Intern Denise, I am very sorry for your loss. She was a sweet girl with a tender heart. She will be missed. The good news is that the attack did not force Station Management out of their office and the rest of us will live longer.

Merlin has come back into the room after taking out Captain January, glaring at me as I speak…He has chosen to disregard me and I shall continue narrating what I see from where I am. He is slender with raven black hair contrasting with his pale complexion, sharp cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes that turn a bright yellow when he says a spell in the Old Tongue – a clear indication that he has bracket A5 magic, which is impressive. And terrifying. He is setting Arthur against a corner of the booth and murmured something.

Listeners, Arthur is waking up but he looks groggy. He is smiling dopily at Merlin, raising his hand to pat Merlin’s shoulder. He is patting Merlin’s cheek. He must have a heavy hand because Merlin shied away from the second pat with an amused expression and a red cheek. I will try to nudge the microphone to their direction with my nose and you might hear what they are saying.

“…out of here.”

“Wheremi?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Strange place. Metal horses and flying men.”

“Yes. It will be stranger still when you’re out there but don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

“You’ll take care of me. You always do, don’t you, Merlin?”

[Laughter] “Yes and you should start listening to me if you want to stop getting into trouble.”

“I am your King. I will not take orders.”

“Not anymore you’re not… don’t look at me like that. It’s been a while since you ruled.”

Arthur is glaring at Merlin and Merlin has picked him up. They stumble and Merlin is leaning against my upturned chair for balance. Arthur is blinking very slowly, staring at Merlin with lids half-closed as if in a dream. He places his hand gently on Merlin’s cheek and there is a surprising tenderness there. Merlin stares at Arthur, confused with lips parted in a question that cannot be worded. Arthur’s head lolls backward and Merlin keeps him from falling with a laugh that is partly amusement and partly astonishment that he is able to carry Arthur’s weight and the weight of his armor. His laugh betrays how much he missed this sort of behavior that seems so usual for Arthur. Arthur opens his eyes like this is his second time waking up in Merlin’s presence.

“This isn’t a dream, yes?”

“Ye –”

…Oh my… They are kissing. Sloppily. Slowly. Arthur steadies his stance to wrap his arms around Merlin, not wanting, _never wanting_ to let go again. Merlin gasps, visibly shaking with unreleased tears at this reunion of two souls meant to be.

Isn’t that sweet?

“Why are you still watching?”

…Should we deny ourselves of this? Love is meant to be shared.

Merlin has pulled away. He is blushing. He is also glaring at me again. AHHH!

[A loud thumping noise]

Hello? Hello. Carlos can you check if it’s still working? Alright. Thank you. Listeners, Merlin and Arthur have disappeared from the booth. We are alone again. Night Vale, it seems that we are also safe again. Or as safe as we can be. Or as safe as we are when a prophecy has been set into motion, if such a prophecy exists. A girl just walked up to me and handed me a report. Apparently, the force field is gone and the storm has turned into a light drizzle of sand. Thank you, uh…

“Cecil, it’s me, Intern Denise!”

Denise? But you’re…

“Black, I know. Not much has changed really.”

You are also levitating off the ground.

“Well, there’s that. I’m just glad to be alive. You know how it is with your interns. Anything else you need me to do?”

…How about…some coffee…?

“Coming right up, Cecil.”

…Where was I? Oh yes, safe. We are now safe. Merlin came and he left with Arthur, his king, and any horrors he was willing to bring upon our city to get to him. Where they went and what they’re doing now is out of my hands and out of your ears listeners. We may never know the whole story but part of their story happened here and, to be honest, I feel honored to be part of something so… magical. Stories intersect all the time and it is a privilege to be part of someone else’s story. But this is not a one-sided thing. I believe stories are a two-way street. It takes two lines to intersect. We were part of their story and they were part of ours. We are all part of each other’s stories, Night Vale. Our paths cross all the time and we don’t notice. We witness stories every day and we don’t pay close attention. Each person is a book filled with insights and excitement, danger and comfort, emotions, wanderlust, and organs. We may never read them all. Some of them aren’t our cup of tea. But they are all special to someone all the same.

And I would like to grab a bite at _Nathaniel’s Perfect Pastries_ with someone special to me. Almost dying works up a bit of an appetite. Stay tuned next for the sound of smell and a voice telling you what to do.

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Night Vale is a production of commonplace books. It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor and produced by Joseph Fink but not today because it is written by Joey using the ideas of Joseph and Jeffrey. The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin. The voice of Carlos is Dylan Marron. The characters of Merlin and Arthur are from the BBC show Merlin, which ended but shouldn’t have ended. Also that spell I got off the Merlin wikia. The voice of Merlin is Colin Morgan. The voice of Arthur is Bradley James. The voice of Denise is I have no idea, she’s an original character. Original music by no one because this is just words. So many words. All of this can be downloaded for free at dispirition.info or at dispirition.bandcamp.com. This episode’s weather was Anna Sun by Walk the Moon. Find out more about Walk the Moon at walkthemoonband.com. Wanna have your music featured in the weather section? Want to contribute your talents to the show? Just wanna say hi? Well tough luck, this isn’t a real Night Vale thing but my ask box is always open if you can find it. Say hi anyway, I’m lonely in this hole I’ve been stuck in for years. Check out commplacebooks.com for more information on this show as well as cool Night Vale stuff that you can own. And while you’re there, consider clicking the donate link, that’ll be cool of you because this show deserves an eternity of availability
> 
> Today’s proverb: “Let them eat cake” they said, as they ritualistically smudged icing across the bark of dying trees.


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